UC-NRLF 


Y      ';'"••:': 


p  s 

3505 

U34 

D7 

1910 

MAIN 


•i:\_- ^•^•ri--'--:^-:-^--\-i:^;-l-=-- 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT    OF 


Class 


0 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


r?       /Tx* 

*     f  i->  t  U^  " 


DREAMS  COME  TRUE 


BY 


CHARLOTTE  NATTINGER  CUMMINS 


Copyright  1910 

By 
CHARLOTTE  NATTINGER  CUMMINS 


i 


Dreams  Come  True 

KNOW  that  the  songs  I  am  bringing 

Were  never  writ  by  rule,  ^  ^-> 

For  I  learned  all  my  singing 

In  the  wild  birds'  school.  ft  Q  W  fNS'"7 

We  had  no  music-master,  - 

Not  even  a  fiddler's  string; 
'Twas  the  linnet  I  copied  after: 

She  taught  me  how  to  sing. 

She  sang  her  song  at  evening 

With  all  a  bird's  glad  thrill, 
While  I,  a  child  believing, 

Mimicked  her  at  will. 

I  learned  to  love  the  grasses 

And  every  flower  that  grew; 
There  were  no  fads  nor  classes 

For  me  to  cater  to. 

I  never  longed  for  the  city, 

Like  some  poor  rhymers  do; 
But  kept  on  with  my  ditty — 

My  audience,  birds  I  knew. 

I  had  my  dreams  of  glory, 

Morning,  noon  and  night; 
Many  a  wing  for  a  story 

Was  halted  in  its  flight. 

Now  beyond  toil  and  fretting 

I'll  bring  my  songs  to  you; 
With  your  love  for  a  setting — 

My  dreams  have  all  come  true. 


Page    seven 


201302 


M 


A  Song  of  Father 

Y  father  was  a  quiet  man, 
Built  on  the  very  noblest  plan, 
His  life  to  God's  best  meanings  ran. 

His  days  were  full  of  sweet  content, 
He  always  said  just  what  he  meant 
And  never  owed  a  man  a  cent. 

No  one  went  empty  from  his  door, 

He  always  said,  "God  would  send  more. 

He  loved  to  help  where  hearts  were  sore. 

We  children  loved  to  see  him  come, 
Our  hearts  with  tender  love  were  dumb 
When  we  would  hear  him  coming  home. 

Now  memory  lends  her  sweetest  grace 
As  this  poor  simple  song  I  trace : 
For  strangers  sit  in  that  dear  place. 

The  birds  sing  there  just  as  of  yore, 
The  rosebush  climbs  about  the  door, 
But  father's  face  we'll  see  no  more. 


Page    eight 


c 


Our  Little  Part 

ET  us  start  a  good  thought  going, 

It  may  reach  a  hungry  one, 
It  may  light  without  our  knowing, 
A  work  for  God  be  done. 

Some  glad  song  with  good  intended 
May  be  wafted  to  its  goal; 

Some  glad  word  where  love  is  blended 
May  help  a  stranded  soul. 

Walls  may  crumble  in  the  making, 
Cities  moulder  with  their  dead; 

But  a  thought  that  starts  souls  waking 
Will  live  when  life  has  fled. 

It  will  live  when  we  are  sleeping 
'Neath  the  daisies  on  the  hill ; 

God  the  record  will  be  keeping 
When  our  pulseless  hands  are  still. 

Then  let's  keep  on  sowing,  sowing, 

Doing  our  little  part ; 
We  must  keep  on  throwing,  throwing, 

Some  day  a  seed  may  start. 


Page     nine 


c 


Beggar  and  Painter 

OME  out,  come  out,  the  wild  birds  said, 
The  eastern  sky  was  gold  and  red, 
The  earth  was  putting  on  her  best, 
A  robin  circling  round  her  nest; 
While  I,  a  beggar,  with  new  eyes 
Gazed  all  enraptured  at  the  skies, 
Unmindful  when  my  feet  struck  sod, 
The  soul  of  me  was  fed  by  God. 

I  heard  the  birds  in  all  their  glee, 
They  sang  their  carolings  to  me. 
What,  though  I  had  an  empty  purse, 
I'd  heard  of  things,  oh,  so  much  worse! 
Dishonor  had  not  come  to  me; 
From  all  such  sinning  I  was  free. 
Even  pangs  of  hunger  passed  me  by 
When  I  could  see  God  paint  the  sky. 


P  a  g-  e     ten 


w 


Motherhood 

HEN  they  brought  the  baby  to  me 

And  held  it  for  a  kiss, 
How  mother  love  thrilled  through  me, 

I  said,  "Thank  God  for  this," 
The  little  tender  clinging  thing, 

Of  my  own  life  a  part; 
I  wondered  how  a  child  could  bring 

Such  joy  to  a  mother's  heart. 

The  little  tender  clinging  hands, 

That  clung  so  to  my  own; 
While,  mother-like,  I  made  such  plans 

When  baby  would  be  grown. 
The  little  nestling  cheek  of  pink 

With  its  dear  velvet  touch 
Made  me,  a  young  wife,  stop  and  think — 

For  motherhood  meant  much. 

'Twas  the  happiest  moment  of  my  life — 

I  say  it  now  with  pride — 
I  had  known  both  loves,  of  mother  and  wife, 

And  I  was  satisfied. 
For  a  mother's  heart  is  a  wondrous  thing, 

Thrilling  at  baby's  cries; 
And  that  is  why  this  tribute  I  bring — 

All  mine  have  flown  to  the  skies. 


Page     eleven 


I 


My  Little  Lover 

HAVE  a  little  lover, 

He's  as  handsome  as  can  be, 
My  face  with  kisses  he'll  cover 

As  he  leans  upon  my  knee. 
He  tells  me  how  he  loves  me 

Twenty  times  a  day. 
Why,  he  even  tries  to  hug  me 

When  his  Pa's  away. 

He  smiles  at  me  so  fondly 

With  his  kindly  eyes  of  blue, 
My  life  is  never  lonely — 

He  knows  I  love  him,  too. 
I  never  had  a  lover 

As  fond  and  true  as  he. 
His  love  he  cannot  smother, 

He  has  so  much  for  me. 

I  want  to  keep  him  always, 

My  little  love  so  quaint. 
His  head  upon  my  lap  he  lays 

With  a  little  sleepy  plaint. 
He's  now  beside  me  kneeling, 

The  little  prayer's  said, 
I  smile  with  a  thankful  feeling 

When  I  get  him  tucked  in  bed. 


Page      twelv 


A 


At  Eventide 

T  eventide  the  birds  fly  homeward, 

Back  to  the  parent  nest; 
So  do  I,  like  a  weary  bird, 

Long  for  those  I  love  the  best. 

Not  for  gilded  palaces  of  art 

Or  grand  estate  and  place; 
But  to  a  mother's  waiting  heart — 

I  long  to  see  her  face. 

Back  to  the  little  humble  cot 

Where  I  first  saw  the  light ; 
It  is  the  dearest,  choicest  spot, 

She  waits  for  me  tonight. 

Back  to  that  place  beside  her  knee, 

The  little  prayer  said; 
The  same  fond  love  she  gave  to  me 

When  she  tucked  me  into  bed. 

Back  to  the  love  that  never  failed, 

It  was  ever  there  to  shine, 
And  even  when  misfortune  assailed 

She  loved  me,  all  the  time. 

Back  to  the  beautiful  dreams  of  youth 

Let  me  in  fancy  stray ; 
Where  life  was  a  beautiful  gleam  of  truth, 

Where  mother  taught  me  to  pray. 


Page     thirteen 


s 


A  Glad  California  Day 

UNSHINE  gilding  mountain  and  plain, 

Blue  sky  hanging  over, 
A  twittering  wild  bird's  glad  refrain, 

Poppies,  grass  and  clover. 


The  drowsy  hum  of  busy  bees, 
The  cattle  homeward  lowing; 

The  blossoms  falling  from  the  trees — 
Is  this  a  Summer  snowing? 

These  are  the  things  that  make  life  glad 

Far  from  life's  noisy  center, 
With  never  a  thought  to  sigh  or  be  sad, 

Where  only  good  can  enter. 

This  is  the  place  to  go  and  rest 

Leaving  care  behind  you; 
Finding  at  last  life's  very  best 

Where  fashion  cannot  bind  you. 

This  is  a  glad  California  Day 

Perfect  in  its  glory, 
Wooing  from  cares  that  make  us  gray, 

Back  to  Nature's  story. 


Pag-e     fourteen 


T 


True   Joys 

0  forgive  a  wayward  soul  gone  wrong, 
To  help  a  weaker  one  grow  strong, 
To  do  it  all  for  love's  sweet  sake 
A  very  heaven  of  earth  would  make. 

To  give  some  one  a  brighter  day 
Because  we  happened  to  pass  that  way, 
To  wipe  the  tear  from  Sorrow's  eye — 
These  are  true  joys  you  can't  deny. 


J 


A  Little  Thought 

UST  a  little  song  to  bring  you, 
Just  a  little  word  to  say, 

Just  a  little  joy  to  fling  you, 
As  I  pass  your  way. 

Nothing  very  grand  or  airy, 

Not  one  bit  of  art ; 
Just  my  song  a  little  cheery, 

Bubbling  from  my  heart. 


UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Page     fifteen 


T 


God's  Pastures 

HE  loving  sky  is  just  as  blue 
If  my  poor  heart  does  ache, 

And  I  must  hold  to  what  is  true, 
Keep  on  for  love's  sweet  sake. 


The  dear  sunshine  is  just  as  gold, 

It  shines  on  me  to  bless ; 
And  I  must  to  God's  promises  hold 

And  never  love  him  less. 

Hold  on,  though  heavy  storms  arise 
And  winds  of  trouble  blow; 

There  is  a  place  that  storm  defies — 
'Tis  where  God's  pastures  grow. 


w 


Trifles 

E  can  dream  of  wealth  and  power, 
Have  money  to  buy  what  we  please, 

But  these  little  things,  hour  by  hour, 
Put  a  dear  heart  at  its  ease: 

A  kind  word  given  with  feeling, 
The  clasp  of  a  friend  in  need, 

The  best  in  two  hearts  revealing, 
Is  what  we  love,  indeed. 

A  kindly  glance  of  sympathy, 
A  word  from  an  absent  friend 

Brings  true  delight  to  you  and  me, 
With  blessings  to  the  end. 


Page     sixteen 


I 


A  Picture 

KNEW  she  was  his  mother 

When  they  came  into  the  car, 
He  hurried  so  to  kiss  her, 
For  she  had  come  so  far. 

I  knew  she  was  his  mother 
By  his  kind,  protecting  care, 

And  the  way  he  smiled  above  her 
Made  a  picture  then  and  there. 

He  wrapped  her  furs  around  her, 
With  a  lingering  caress, 

So  glad  that  he  had  found  her 
On  the  " Overland  Express." 

He  was  six  feet  tall  and  over, 
A  stalwart  sun-browned  man, 

He  wasn't  ashamed  of  mother — 
He  taller  grew,  a  span. 

It  warmed  my  heart  to  thrilling, 
This  love  between  the  pair, 

And  I  found  my  eyes  were  filling 
At  the  picture  they  made  there. 


Page     seventeen 


A 


He  Takes  the  Best 

BEAUTIFUL  life  has  passed  away, 

A  dear  loved  one  has  gone. 
The  angels  would  not  let  her  stay 

Here,  where  all  hearts  she  won. 

For  all  of  us  she  had  such  love 

A  large  place  it  would  fill. 
They  needed  her  in  Heaven  above 

To  make  it  more  Heavenly  still. 

1 

She  lived  but  to  make  others  glad, 
In  her  heart  there  was  no  guile; 

She  ever  gave  the  best  she  had, 
Made  us  happy  all  the  while. 

She  loved  life,  and  everything 
With  a  love  beyond  compare, 

To  every  heart  she  seemed  to  bring 
Just  what  was  needed  there. 

It  was  so  easy  to  love  her 

This  dear  unselfish  one, 
In  Heaven  they  will  discover 

The  stars  her  crown  has  won. 

We  cannot  understand  God's  ways, 

We  go  at  His  behest, 
He  leads  us  through  such  sad  dark  days 

And  takes  the  very  best. 

In  Memoriam  Lizzie  Descalso. 


Page     eighteen 


o 


One  By  One 

NE  by  one  the  cords  are  broken, 
One  by  one  the  dear  ones  gone; 

One  by  one  the  good-byes  spoken, 
Not  one  left  of  my  own. 

One  by  one  the  burdens  falling, 
One  by  one  cares  passed  away, 

Hark !  I  hear  their  voices  calling, 
"Go  now,  child,  and  work  today." 

Though  the  work  I  meet  be  humble, 
Though  it  be  a  narrow  field, 

Trusting  God  I  will  not  stumble — 
He  can  send  abundant  yield. 

He  can  help  my  message  brighten 
Some  hard  life,  to  cheer  and  bless, 

So  that  somewhere  it  may  lighten 
Some  dear  soul  in  its  distress. 

He  can  bless  the  simple  story, 
He  can  guide  a  song's  glad  way, 

He  can  crown  with  His  bright  glory 
All  my  little  leaves  of  bay. 


Page     nineteen 


o 


Mother  s  Faith 

H,  for  the  faith  my  mother  had, 
As  firm  and  true  and  strong, 

The  faith  that  made  us  children  glad — 
Each  day  a  trusting  song. 

The  trusting  faith  that  first  was  mine 
Beside  her  dear,  dear  knee, 

Come  near  tonight,  and  round  me  shine 
Let  me  its  radiance  see. 

Come  near  with  all  the  same  glad  ways 

That  time  can  ne'er  dispel; 
Give  me  the  faith  of  mother's  days — 

The  trust  she  knew  so  well. 

For  life  is  hard  and  days  are  long 
Without  her  sheltering  care, 

And  that  is  why  I  sing  this  song. 
Let  me  her  faith  still  share. 


Page     twenty 


Outgrown 


T 


HE  rest  that  comes  at  evening 

When  the  day  is  at  its  close, 
And  the  heart  forgets  its  grieving; 

Where  there's  none  but  God  that  knows. 

When  the  toils  and  cares  are  ended, 

For  a  little  while  at  least, 
And  the  past  in  silence  blended 

Lingers  like  a  loving  guest. 

Then  we  feel  the  magic  glory 

Of  a  hope  that's  all  our  own, 
While  our  hearts  thrill  with  the  story 

Of  a  dream  we've  half  outgrown. 


w 


Say  Something'  Kind 

I  HEN  speaking  of  your  neighbor 

Try  to  say  something  kind; 
Give  your  words  a  loving  flavor 
As  they  come  from  your  mind. 

We  have  enough  of  sorrow 

To  fight  against  at  best; 
Then  from  some  good  thought  borrow 

The  glow  that  leaves  a  rest. 

If  we  would  always  do  this 
We'd  soon  have  Heaven  here, 

We'd  find  what  worthy  living  is 
And  have  no  end  of  cheer. 


Page     twenty-one 


The  Linnet;  In  the  Mountains 


Y 


OU  may  prize  a  dear  canary 

Singing  in  a  gilded  cage, 
But  it  takes  a  linnet  cheery, 

To  all  my  song  engage. 

She  was  such  a  wee,  wee  singer, 

She  took  me  by  surprise; 
The  joy  of  life  was  in  her, 

She  caught  it  from  the  skies. 

We  crossed  the  hills  together 

On  many  a  pleasant  day, 
And  I'd  often  wonder  whether 

That  bird  designed  to  stay. 

She'd  sing  and  chirp  at  my  table 

When  I  was  making  pies; 
Don't  tell  me  "love's  a  fable;" 

It  lives  when  all  else  dies. 

And  the  wild  bees  caught  the  glory 

Of  that  glad  summer  time, 
Buzzing  the  old,  old  story 

Of  Love,  the  theme  divine. 

Our  songs  made  us  acquainted, 

We  knew  each  other  well; 
But  the  time  she  slipped  off  and  mated, 

She  wouldn't  even  tell. 

When  she  came  to  the  door  with  her  birdlings 

Her  absence  I  understood. 
'Twas  a  lesson  for  busy  worldlings 

That  bird  with  her  little  brood. 


Page     twenty-two 


The  Linnet  continued 

I  was  thrilled  with  a  gladsome  feeling 

I  never  had  before, 
That  mother  her  love  revealing 

Outside  my  kitchen  door. 

She  stood  there  with  the  little  things 

As  proud  as  she  could  be; 
The  feathers  sprouting  on  their  wings — 

The  dear  little  linnets  three. 

I  threw  them  crumbs  from  the  table, 

They  grew  so  very  tame ; 
But,  oh  my!  what  a  babble 

As  soon  as  daylight  came. 

O,  many  an  hour  of  laughter 
I've  had  with  those  dear  things 

When  they'd  fly  up  to  the  rafter 
To  try  their  tender  wings. 

My  days  were  brighter,  better, 

Up  in  the  mountains  there, 
For  that  dear  bird,  God  bless  her! 

Would  sing  away  my  care. 

I'd  love  to  live  it  over, 

Feel  all  the  same  glad  thrills 

I  felt  for  that  singing  rover 
In  the  dear  California  hills. 


Pag-e     twenty-three 


W 


In  Memoriam  to  G.  W.  C. 

Co.  E.  104th  Reg.  III.  Volunteers 

E  laid  him  out  in  coat  of  blue, 
Hands  folded  on  his  breast; 

The  truest  heart  I  ever  knew, 
And  now  he's  gone  to  rest. 

Gone  where  peace  and  hope  abound, 
Where  joys  eternal  reign; 

I  know  his  rightful  place  he's  found, 
I  know  he's  passed  all  pain. 

With  palsied  foot  and  deafened  ear 
No  more  he'll  pause  and  wait, 

For  loving  angels  will  be  near 
To  help  at  Heaven's  gate. 

I  know  that  in  the  Father's  sight 

His  record  will  be  clear, 
For  it  was  always  his  delight 

With  mates  his  mite  to  share. 

His  heart  was  ever  good  and  true, 
And  he  was  always  kind; 

The  One  who  all  his  weakness  knew 
Will  palms  of  victory  find. 


Page     twenty-four 


H 


New  Songs  To  Bring 

OUSEHOLD  dears  were  many  then 
When  I  worked  and  cared  for  them, 
Just  like  blossoms  on  a  stem. 

They  were  dear  and  sweet  and  good, 
Loving  mother  as  they  should, — 
Such  a  happy  little  brood. 

Ah,  those  early  years  of  bliss! 
How  I  love  to  think  of  this, — 
Children  scrambling  for  a  kiss. 

My  nest  still  is  on  the  bough 
But  'tis  empty,  empty  now, — 
Silver  threads  are  on  my  brow. 

All  my  birds  have  taken  wing, 
I'm  too  old,  my  dear,  to  sing. 
They  will  have  new  songs  to  bring 
When  they  come  home  in  the  spring. 


Page     twenty-five 


T 


Mothers 

HIS  world  is  full  of  mothers— 
They  are  not  hard  to  find — 

Who  are  living  their  lives  for  others, 
Loving,  thoughtful  and  kind. 

Their  names  are  not  heralded  afar 

Upon  the  scroll  of  fame, 
They  plod  away  on  this  little  star — 

The  love  in  their  hearts  aflame. 

Their  happiness  in  the  world  of  home, 
Their  children  call  them  "blest;" 

They  never  have  a  call  to  roam, 
They  love  the  hearthstone  best. 

I  look  at  these  homes  on  the  hillside, 

Every  one  a  shrine, 
My  heart  thrills  with  a  gladsome  pride, 

For  one  of  these  mothers  is  mine. 


Page     twenty-six 


O 


A  Tribute  to  Sorrow 

H,  Sorrow,  with  thy  grief  and  tears 

Don't  leave  me  now,  I  pray, 
For  thou  hast  been  my  friend  for  years — 

I  want  thee  still  to  stay. 

Thou  hast  been  here  through  storm  and  stress, 

Through  battles  fierce  and  long; 
And  now  I  love  thee  more,  not  less, 

For  thee  I  sing  this  song. 

For  thou  hast  taught  me  many  things 

In  thy  dear  ministry, 
Taught  me  whence  all  helping  springs 

My  Father's  face  to  see. 

I  know  that  my  Redeemer  lives, 

Thou  hast  shown  me  the  way, 
How  from  His  heart  of  love  He  gives 

His  peace  to  crown  the  day. 

He  guides  the  swallow  in  its  flight, 

Why  should  He  not  guide  me? 
Am  I  not  greater  in  His  sight 

Than  it  could  ever  be? 

I'm  glad  I  know  my  Father's  voice, 

It  echoes  down  the  years. 
He's  saying  now,  rejoice,  rejoice! 

Child,  smile  amid  your  tears. 


Page     twenty-seven 


»^.- 


Of1  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


A  Little  Word  of  Praise 


A 


H,  nothing  such  big  interest  pays, 

I  don't  care  what  you  say, 
As  once  in  a  while  a  word  of  praise 
As  we  go  down  life's  way. 

If  you've  a  little  wife  at  home, 
She  may  have  the  queerest  ways, 

But  don't  forget  it,  when  you  come 
To  bring  a  word  of  praise. 

The  boy  who  studies  hard  at  school, 

Altho  he  often  plays, 
Oh,  don't  forget  to  keep  this  rule, 

Give  him  a  word  of  praise. 

There's  not  a  soul  on  this  green  earth 
But  longs  for  love  that  stays ; 

It  shows  us  what  this  life  is  worth 
When  we  hear  a  word  of  praise. 

Don't  keep  it  bottled  on  a  shelf, 
When  it  such  interest  pays, 

I  own  I  love  it  well  myself — 
A  little  word  of  praise. 


Page     twenty-eight 


G 


Old  Loves 

IVE  me  the  prairies  broad  and  wide, 

The  touch  of  a  free,  glad  breeze ; 
The  waving  grass  where  I  used  to  hide, 

No  joys  were  quite  like  these. 

The  hazy  clouds  that  stretch  away, 

A  cooing  dove's  sad  tone, 
The  laugh  and  shout  of  a  happy  day, 

The  joys  we  all  have  known. 

The  old  orchard,  where  the  fairies 

Came  with  their  blossom  chain ; 
Oh,  give  me  the  glad  prairies, 

Would  I  were  there  again. 

The  rippling  swing  of  the  growing  corn 

Made  music  enough  for  me, 
Where  oft  I  wandered  at  early,  morn 

This  beauty  to  hear  and  see. 

Where  the  first  song  of  the  meadow-lark 

Was  sung  for  me  alone, 
And  all  the  meadows  were  one  great  park, 

I  joyed  to  be  alone. 

Where  strawberries  grew  in  the  same  old  place, 

Almost  hidden  from  sight ; 
The  winding  paths  for  our  bare-foot  race, 

Where  dust  wras  our  delight. 

The  bird's  nest  hid  in  the  waving  grass, 

The  old  bird  flying  out; 
No  matter  how  slyly  we  would  pass, 

She  knew  we  were  about. 


Page     twenty- nine 


Old 


Continued 


Dear  mother  in  her  cap  of  lace, 
Her  smile  of  welcome  sweet, 

She'd  make  a  home  of  any  place, 
Her  love  made  life  complete. 

The  little  prayer  at  bedtime 

Repeated  at  her  knee, 
Has  left  its  glory,  for  my  rhyme 

And  brought  my  work  to  me. 

The  faith  and  hope  she  taught  us  then 

Runs  like  a  gleam  along, 
And  even  now  it  guides  my  pen 

And  makes  my  thought  a  song. 


This  fond  home-thought  I  cherish  well, 
"Old  Loves"  my  heart  entwine, 

And  lingering  memory  loves  to  tell 
My  mother's  God  is  mine. 


Page     thirty 


E 


The  Old  Farm  Gate 

ONESOME  and  sad  it  swings  in  the  breeze, 

Rocked  by  the  wind  that  blows  through  the  trees ; 
Many  the  children  that  swung  on  its  side, 
Gone  now  the  faces  that  loved  so  to  hide. 
Rusty  the  hinges  and  moss-grown  the  post 
That  once  daily  welcomed  neighbor  and  host — 
While  memory  is  busy,  impatient  of  fate, 
The  breezes  are  swinging  the  old  farm  gate. 

Visions  of  daisies  and  buttercups,  too, 
Wreaths  made  of  clover  we  picked  in  the  dew, 
To  hang  on  the  gate,  as  it  opened,  you  know, 
While  father  drove  through  with  the  load  in  the  glow, 
As  up  o'er  the  manger  we  climbed  to  the  mow. 
(Ah!  nothing  but  memory  comes  to  me  now.) 
We'll  fill  it  with  blossoms  before  it's  too  late, 
The  treasured  old  relic,  the  old  farm  gate. 

Often  we  children  all  mounted  on  top, 
Watched  as  we  listened  for  Dobbin's  old  trot, 
While  mother  so  softly  would  smile  on  us  there 
With  blessings  unspoken,  that  filled  all  the  air; 
Then  Dobbin's  old  face  we'd  spy  down  the  lane, 
And  father  would  laugh,  for  he  knew  we  would  gain, 
As  up  we  would  scamper  to  meet  him  in  state, 
All  eager  to  open  the  old  farm  gate. 

Though  years  have  passed  on,  it  swings  there  yet ; 
I  love  that  old  gate,  and  cannot  forget, 
And  I  often  look  back  with  moistened  eye 
To  the  dear  old  days  that  are  long  gone  by, 
And  memory  comes  with  her  tender  sheen 
Like  rifts  of  gold  in  the  darkness  seen. 
With  new-born  hope  I  watch  and  wait, 
For  the  dear  old  faces  at  Heaven's  gate. 


Page     thirty-one 


The  Woman  With  the   Woe 


P 


ATIENT  she  works  from  day  to  day, 
Her  heart  bowed  down  with  care, 

With  scarcely  a  place  to  lay  her  head, 
Or  a  decent  dress  to  wear. 

Children,  perhaps,  depending  on  her, 

Looking  to  her  for  bread, 
The  burden  of  life  upon  her, 

The  rascally  husband  fled. 

This  picture  I've  made  is  a  true  one, 

Not  one  of  us  dare  ignore ; 
The  story  is  one  that's  never  done, 

We  see  them  today  by  the  score. 

Leaving  the  wife  with  the  burden, 
The  question  of  life  to  solve, 

Ah,  she  is  left  to  struggle  then, 
As  mothers  will,  who  love. 

Talk  of  a  woman's  weakness, 

She  is  not  weak  at  all ; 
See  her  there  in  her  sweetness, 

Working  for  children  small. 

With  one  foot  on  the  cradle,  she 
Keeps  hunger  from  the  door, 

Brave  as  a  mother  she  will  be 
Though  her  heart  be  ever  so  sore. 

Such  stand  at  the  helm  of  the  nation 

Toiling  from  day  to  day — 
Calm  keepers  of  poverty's  station, 

Keeping  the  wolf  at  bay. 


Page     thirty-two 


When  It  Comes  Thanksgiving 


i 


'M  going  to  grandma's,  across  the  bay, 
To  stay  till  after  Thanksgiving  Day; 
They  live  up  there  on  the  mountain  side, 
Where  all  day  long  the  roses  ride. 

The  dear  little  birds  are  ever  so  tame, 
They  fly  right  up  to  the  window-pane; 
And  oh!  the  pie  my  grandma  makes — 
As  soon  as  you  touch  the  crust  it  breaks. 

She  has  apples  and  nuts  up  in  the  loft, 
She  sleeps  on  a  feather  bed — my,  it's  soft! 
And  she  tucks  the  covers  around  me  so 
She  don't  leave  a  bit  of  room  to  grow. 

Her  hair  is  white,  and  she  wears  a  cap ; 
Sometimes  she  stops  to  take  a  nap 
When  she  is  tired,  as  she  often  is — 
Then  I  creep  up  and  steal  a  kiss. 

She  says  I  look  just  like  Pa  did 
When  he  was  a  little  romping  kid ; 
Then,  somehow,  a  tear  comes  in  her  eye, 
While  I  shyly  whisper,  "You  got  any  pie?' 

One  day  I  went  into  her  house 
As  quiet  and  still  as  any  mouse, 
I  couldn't  find  grandma  anywhere — 
I  began  to  think  she  wasn't  there — 

When  suddenly  I  heard  her  say, 
"God  bless  and  keep  him  every  day." 
And  then  I  knew  that  she  meant  me — 
She  was  on  her  knees  in  the  buttery. 


P a g e     thirty-three 


B 


When  It  Comes  Thanksgiving  continued 

I  tell  you  what,  it  touched  me  then 
To  hear  her  praying  for  me,  when — 
She  thought  I  didn't  hear  or  know, 
I  slipped  out  again  on  tiptoe. 

Now,  do  you  wonder  I  love  her, 
Such  a  dear,  darling  grandmother — 
One  who  tells  God  all  about  you, 
And  loves  you,  whate'er  you  do? 

I  pity  the  boy  who  has  no  grandma, 
Nor  fun-loving,  tender  old  grandpa; 
They  miss  half  the  fun  o'  living, 
Especially  when  it  comes  Thanksgiving. 

Better  Things 

ETTER  some  dust  on  the  pane, 

Better  a  kind  word  spoken, 
Better,  far  better  than  dust  on  the  brain, 

Or  a  promise  rudely  broken. 

Better  to  give  the  living  now 

A  flower  in  their  sorrow, 
Better  than  placing  it  on  death's  brow 

At  the  funeral  tomorrow. 

Better  a  crust  where  love  is  king 

Than  a  feast  where  there  is  hate; 
For  peace  is  the  dearest,  brightest  thing 

That  comes  where  true  hearts  wait. 

Better  to  help  with  the  heavy  load 

The  traveler  by  your  side, 
Than  to  ride  indifferent  down  the  road 

Wrapped  up  in  selfish  pride. 


Pagre     thirty-four 


c 


Paint  Me  a  Picture 

OME,  paint  me  a  picture,  will  you, 

To  hang  on  memory's  wall? 
And  make  it  glow  with  colors  true, 

As  the  shadows  rise  and  fall. 

Come,  paint  it  in  colors  golden, 
'Mid  sprigs  of  blossoming  vine, 

That  thrill  as  we  wait  to  behold  them 
Like  waves  of  glory  shine. 

*b 

Come,  paint  my  sainted  mother 
With  the  same  old  tender  smile, 

The  beautiful  sky  above  her, 
The  meadow-grass  and  the  stile. 

Put  me  in  the  picture,  too,  sir, 

A  barefooted  boy  of  ten, 
As  watching  the  glory  about  her, 

The  beauty  came  to  me  then. 

Yes,  she  sat  on  the  stile — 'twas  broken — 

And  I  beside  her,  too, 
While  the  love  beneath  us,  unspoken, 

Thrilled  my  heart  through  and  through. 

Oh !  don 't  forget  the  sunset, 

In  the  hallowed  Sabbath  glow — 

Show  the  bands  of  silver  where  they  met 
O'er  her  brow  as  pure  as  snow, 

And  the  look  of  love  and  waiting, 

As  she  drinks  the  beauty  in, 
While  the  Sabbath  chimes  are  waking 

Thoughts  tuned  to  Christ,  her  King. 


Page     thirty-five 


Paint  Me  a  Picture  continued 

And  the  raptured  love  and  devotion 

Upon  her  upturned  face — 
Just  put  in  more  emotion, 

And  give  that  curve  a  trace. 

Just  mingle  the  blue  with  the  gold,  sir, 
Where  the  lengthening  shadows  meet, 

While  the  summer  breezes  gently  stir 
The  grasses  about  her  feet. 

There,  now,  the  picture's  completed; 

I  feel  the  holy  hush, 
For  my  hungry  heart  has  feasted 

On  scenes  I  love  so  much. 


T 


The  Kind  of  Love  That  Stays 

WO  hearts,  both  true  to  each  other, 

Life  full  of  happy  days, 
A  devoted  father  and  mother, 

The  kind  of  love  that  stays. 

Two  lives  keeping  step  together, 

Beautiful  in  God's  sight, 
No  matter  how  fares  the  weather 

Their  love  a  stream  of  delight. 

Two  minds  expanding  and  growing 

In  peace  to  always  abide, 
No  other  joy  on  earth  knowing 

Only  to  be  side  by  side. 

Two  starting  out  with  God's  blessing, 

Two  hearts  beating  as  one, 
Two  lives,  true  love  possessing 

Till  all  life's  journey's  done. 


Page     thirty-six 


E 


Little  Boy  Mine 

ITTLE  boy  mine,  with  your  eyes  of  blue, 
Come  kiss  me  again,  as  you  used  to  do ; 
Come  press  your  tender  cheek  to  mine, 
Let  the  old  love-light  around  me  shine 
Like  the  sunlit  glory  of  early  morn 
Circling  a  tree  storm-beaten  and  worn. 

Little  boy  mine,  with  your  winsome  ways 
That  haunt  me,  haunt  me  nights  and  days, 
I  have  waited  so  long  in  the  twilight  here 
For  the  sound  of  your  footsteps  coming  near ; 
And  all  day  long  I've  scanned  the  lane 
For  the  boy  I  love  to  come  again. 

Little  boy  mine,  long  years  ago 
You  left  me  (ah,  I  loved  you  so!) 
And  wandered  away  to  lands  unknown. 
Perhaps  my  love  you  have  outgrown; 
But,  oh,  my  boy,  if  you  know  my  heart, 
Nothing  a  mother's  love  can  part! 

Little  boy  mine,  I  am  growing  old; 
The  years  of  my  life  will  soon  be  told. 
Oh,  will  you  not  come  to  cheer  my  life? 
I  have  grown  so  weary  in  the  strife, 
And  smooth  the  way  for  my  tired  feet — 
You  can  make  my  closing  days  so  sweet ! 


P  a  g  e     t  h  i  r  t  y  -  s  e  v  e  n 


Little  Boy  Mine  continued 

Little  boy  mine,  you  have  older  grown — 
Tis  long  since  you  from  the  nest  have  flown; 
Though  another  calls  you  "all  her  joy," 
Just  come  once  more,  my  boy,  my  boy, 
And  hold  me  to  your  heart  again! 
I  know  'twill  ease  this  ache  and  pain. 

Little  boy  mine,  shall  I  plead  in  vain? 
Will  he  ever  come,  on  boat  or  train? 
Hark !    that  must  be  his  step  I  hear — 
That  tone's  familiar  to  my  ear. 
I  have  not  prayed  in  vain  for  this, 
My  boy  is  here,  I  feel  his  kiss. 

Though  the  way  grows  dark  as  Heaven  draws  near, 

I  can  see  my  boy,  I  know  he's  here; 

Though  his  face  is  bronzed,  and  bearded,  too, 

I  can  see  the  love-light  shining  through, 

And  the  same  old  look  in  the  loving  eyes 

That  will  go  with  me  to  Paradise. 


Page     thirty-eight 


T 


Which  Was  the  Bravest? 

ODAY  we  carried  the  sweet  spring  flowers 

To  cover  our  noble  dead, 
While  softly  o'er  these  hearts  of  ours 

A  touch  of  Heaven  was  shed. 

Our  thoughts  went  back  to  that  sad  time 

When  war  was  in  the  air, 
When  thoughts  of  Mason's  and  Dixon's  line 

Brought  fear  to  maidens  fair. 

When  men  were  drafted  right  and  left 

All  over  this  fair  land; 
When  women's  hearts  were  sore  bereft — 

To  "March"  was  the  command. 

Methinks  I  see  before  me  now 

A  young  wife  brave  and  good 
She  said,  "John,  you  must  leave  the  plow, 

I'd  go,  too,  if  I  could." 

He  loved  her  well,  his  country,  too, 
And  said,  "What  will  you  do?" 

She  answered,  "God  will  help  me  through, 
Our  country  now  needs  you." 

His  name  enrolled  among  the  brave 

He  donned  the  coat  of  blue. 
He  said  he'd  die  his  Land  to  save, 

To  Columbia  he'd  be  true. 

The  good  wife  smiled  and  said,  "God  speed,' 

And  watched  him  march  away 
While  she  had  scarcely  bread  to  feed 

Her  children  through  the  day. 


ge     thirty-  nine 


Which  Was  the  Bravest? 

But  she  kept  up  a  brave,  true  heart 

All  through  the  cruel  war; 
She  washed  and  worked  tho  the  tears  would  start. 

And  trusted  God  the  more. 

While  on  the  Lord  her  burdens  laid — 
Her  hands  were  rough  and  brown — 

She  said,  "The  shot  was  never  made 
To  strike  her  husband  down." 

While  mothers  and  sisters  wailed  with  grief, 

She  calmly  read  of  the  dying; 
In  her  work  and  children  she  found  relief 

While  the  months  and  years  were  flying. 

And  John  came  home  without  a  scratch, 

Just  as  she  said  he  would, 
And  love  and  happiness  lifted  the  latch; 

The  future  held  but  good. 

Though  today  her  hair  is  white  as  snow 

Her  smile  is  just  as  sweet 
As  when  she  told  her  all  to  go 

The  rebel  foes  to  meet. 

Grandchildren  hang  about  her  knee 

And  older  ones  kiss  her  cheek, 
And  we  are  all  so  glad  to  see 

How  God  can  bless  and  keep. 

And  the  question  softly  comes  to  me 

As  I  end  this  simple  rhyme: 
Which  of  the  two  will  hero  be 

When  the  bells  of  Heaven  chime? 


Page     forty 


I 


Written  for  Me 

WAS  tired  and  weary  of  living, 
So  heavy  had  grown  my  load; 
Rebellious,  too,  in  my  grieving, 
No  beauty  around  me  glowed. 

My  heart  ached  nigh  to  breaking, 

I  chafed  beneath  the  rod; 
While  doubt  and  grief  were  slowly  taking 

My  faith  away  from  God. 

When  I  picked  up  an  old  torn  paper, 

Yellow  and  dim  with  age, 
I  halted  a  moment  from  labor 

To  glance  at  the  corner  page. 

And  there  I  found  a  few  verses 
That  touched  my  stubborn  heart, 

About  trouble  and  life's  reverses; 
I  felt  the  teardrops  start. 

The  writer  had  known  earth's  losses, 

Had  felt  the  touch  of  woe ; 
But  she  sang  in  the  midst  of  crosses, 

" Suffering  makes  me  grow." 

I  read  it  over  and  over, 

My  load  began  to  lift, 
While  a  light  that  was  like  no  other 

Fell  on  me  like  a  rift. 

And  I  smiled  serene  at  the  baby 
As  she  stood  beside  my  knee : 

Mentally  thanking  the  lady 

Who  had  written  those  words  for  me. 


Page     forty-one 


H 


Where  Love  Was  True 

OW  I  love  to  dream  them  over 
The  glad  years  of  the  past ; 

When  we  were  home  with  mother 
Where  love  lived  till  the  last. 

When  we  were  wee,  wee  children, 
And  hung  about  her  knee; 

How  many  times  she  told  us  then 
To  choose  good  company. 

She  was  just  the  dearest  mother 
That  ever  childhood  knew; 

She  taught  us  to  love  each  other 
And  to  ourselves  be  true. 

I  can  hear  her  voice  at  evening 
Calling  softly  up  the  stairs : 

1  'Now  girls,  do  be  forgiving, 

Don't  forget  to  say  your  prayers." 

No  beggar  ever  long  halted 
Or  knocked  at  mother's  door, 

But  she  gave  him  bread,  'twas  salted 
From  out  her  humble  store. 

She  loved  the  God  she  believed  in, 
And  we  all  loved  Him,  too ; 

She  made  the  home  we  lived  in 
The  place  "where  love  was  true." 


Page     forty-two 


o 


A  Woman's  Way 

THE  din  of  pots  and  kettles, 

The  rush  of  the  hurrying  broom, 
The  clatter  of  saucepans  and  griddles — 
I'm  sick  of  the  homely  tune! 

It's  rise  in  the  morning  at  five 
To  hurry  a  breakfast  for  six, 

Thankful  that  I'm  alive 
And  able  the  bread  to  mix. 

Then  put  up  lunches  snug  and  fast 
For  father  and  Ned  and  Bill; 

Then  the  little  ones  clamor  for  breakfast, 
Three  little  stomachs  to  fill. 

I'd  like  to  glance  at  the  paper, 
But  I  haven't  a  moment's  time, 

Not  even  to  chat  with  a  neighbor 
Or  to  read  the  latest  rhyme. 

I  often  feel  so  weary 

I'd  like  to  close  my  eyes, 
Then  I  look  at  my  babies  cheery, 

And  crush  the  thoughts  that  rise. 

So  thankful  that  I'm  given 

Those  little  ones  to  guide, 
To  train  their  feet  for  Heaven, 

At  home  here,  by  my  side. 


Page     forty-three 


A  Woman  s  Way 

I  must  count  the  blessings  falling 

Around  me  all  the  time, 
Then  the  pots  and  kettles  in  calling 

Will  sing  a  merrier  chime. 

I  feel  I  have  a  kingdom 

Right  by  me,  here  at  home : 

May  I  be  bright  to  welcome  them 
When  home  from  school  they  come. 

May  I  ever  have  the  patient  grace 
That  comes  from  the  Father  above, 

And  show  them  by  my  happy  face 
The  keynote  of  life  is — love. 


A  Little  Sermon  on  Temperance 


i 


'M  a  moderate  drinker,"  he  said, 
As  he  passed  the  drunkard's  side. 

"To  be  like  him  I'd  rather  be  dead." 
The  distance  between  them  was  wide. 

But  time  went  on  and  the  habit  grew 
On  the  moderate  man  of  pride, 

Till  at  last  it  was  all  that  he  could  do 
From  friends  the  truth  to  hide. 

And  soon  the  monster  had  him  down, 
Body,  soul  and  strength  and  will; 

He  was  the  biggest  drunkard  in  town 
Slain  by  the  worm  of  the  still. 


Page     forty-four 


E 


The  Borrowing  Browns 

VER  hear  of  the  borrowing  Browns? 
Their  girls  who  wear  such  lavish  gowns; 
They  put  on  style  enough  to  kill, 
And  one  of  them's  after  my  boy  Bill. 

What  would  he  do  with  such  a  wife? 
She'd  be  the  torment  of  his  life, 
Spending  far  more  than  he  could  earn; 
The  money  in  her  hands  would  burn. 

But  this  is  not  what  I  want  to  say, 
From  my  first  thought  I  've  gone  astray ; 
About  their  borrowing  I  want  to  tell, 
If  they  don't  quit  we'll  have  to  sell. 

One  day  it's  coffee  and  tea  and  spice, 
The  next  it's  sugar  and  starch  and  rice, 
A  bar  of  soap  with  a  pinch  of  blue, 
A  bit  of  salt  to  put  in  the  stew. 

They  borrowed  my  scissors  and  broke  the  blade, 
And  now  they  are  using  my  brand  new  spade. 
I  wonder  what  they  will  borrow  next? 
It's  enough  to  make  a  preacher  vexed. 

Their  pantry's  as  empty  as  can  be, 

And  when  they  run  short  they  send  to  me; 

I've  grown  so  tired  of  keeping  it  up 

I'd  like  to  smash  their  old  teacup. 


Page     forty-fiv 


The  Borrowing'  Browns  c 


They  send  for  the  paper  before  we're  through, 
And  sometimes  I  let  them  have  it,  too. 
When  father  comes  to  his  easychair 
His  favorite  paper  is  not  there. 

But  when  they  came  to  borrow  my  hat 
I  said,  "No,  no!"  the  cheek  of  that! 
The  climax  was  the  fine-tooth  comb, 
Now  to  these  Browns  "I'm  not  at  home." 


F 


A  Poet's  Consolation 

iRMER  JONES  may  own  the  land, 

What  is  that  to  me? 
I  can  see  from  where  I  stand 

More,  perhaps,  than  he. 

He  may  have  a  house  and  barn 

Built  on  the  latest  plan; 
But  I  can  see  a  verse  or  yarn 

In  things  he  never  can. 

He  may  drive  in  his  coach  and  four 

Along  the  country  road; 
But  I  know  I  enjoy  life  more, 

And  carry  less  of  a  load. 

I  can  hear  the  wild  birds  sing 
Up  and  down  life's  lane. 

I  find  some  joy  in  everything — 
Even  in  this  refrain. 


Pag-e     forty-six 


s 


Poor  Little  Sue 

HE  was  the  brightest  pupil  there, 
She  always  knew  the  rule, 

She  only  had  one  dress  to  wear, 
And  that  she  wore  to  school. 

On  Saturdays  she'd  wash  it  clean, 

And  wear  her  petticoat, 
She  washing,  sandwiched  in  between 

Some  collars  for  her  throat. 

Her  dress  was  a  blue  calico, 
It  cost  "two  bits"  a  yard, 

And  even  now  my  tears  will  flow 
When  I  think  of  her  life  so  hard. 

Just  think  of  having  but  one  dress, 
And  then  to  keep  it  clean; 

No  one  but  God  knew  the  distress 
That  dear  girl  tried  to  screen. 

The  teacher  put  me  next  above  her, 

Both  of  us  in  one  seat, 
And  that  is  how  I  came  to  love  her, 

Poor  little  Sue,  so  sweet. 

At  noontime  she  would  slip  away 

To  eat  her  lonely  lunch. 
She'd  never  have  a  word  to  say, 

She'd  never  join  the  bunch. 


Page     forty-seven 


Little  Sue  Continued 

Each  day  a  package  she  would  bring, 

Five  or  six  inches  square, 
Tied  up  so  neatly  with  a  string, 

A  speck  of  grease  nowhere. 

I  watched  one  day  and  found  what  she 
Had  in  the  lunch  pack  there — 

Four  little  blocks,  smooth  as  could  be, 
Like  pieces  of  bread  cut  square. 

She  brought  no  lunch,  but  made  believe — 

My  poor,  proud  little  Sue. 
My  heart  ached  so  I  couldn't  conceive 

What  the  very  poor  must  do. 

I  told  the  girls  and  teacher,  too, 
And  our  hearts  were  opened  wide, 

And  all  to  that  poor  girl  were  true, 
Our  love  we  could  not  hide. 

We  each  brought  more  than  we  could  eat 

And  made  her  join  the  bunch, 
We  voted  her  the  highest  seat 

When  we  took  noonday  lunch. 


Page     forty-eight 


w 


Memories  of  Childhood 

HEN  we  were  young,  and  children  small, 
A  happy  home  just  held  us  all; 
The  place  where  peace  had  ever  dwelt, 
Where  oft  at  mother's  knee  we  knelt. 

The  rose-tree  climbed  about  the  door; 
The  buzzing  bee  came  oft  for  store; 
There  mother's  face  shone  all  the  day, 
A  holy  light  upon  life's  way. 

The  pansies  grew,  so  thick  indeed, 
There  was  no  place  for  grass  or  weed; 
And  mignonette  in  clusters,  too, 
Bloomed  humbly  there  the  summer  through. 

And  buttercups,  with  golden  sheen, 
And  hyacinths  filled  the  nooks  between ; 
Old-fashioned  pinks,  all  laden  low, 
Bloomed  softly,  too,  all  in  a  row. 

There  every  spring  the  swallow  came 
And  built  her  nest  in  place  the  same. 
'Twas  made  of  mud  and  sticks  and  string — 
A  fitting  home  for  birds  in  spring. 

The  grapevine,  trailing  in  and  out, 
Shared  every  trick  we  were  about, 
And  while  it  grew  up  towards  the  sky 
We  played  keep  house,  and  made  mud  pie. 


Page     forty-nine 


Memories  of  Childhood  continued 

The  old  settee,  all  painted  green — 
How  many  memories  round  it  lean, 
As  on  the  porch,  so  broad  and  wide, 
It  stood,  by  summer  and  winter  tried. 

Out  in  the  barn,  to  rafters  tied, 
The  swing  hung  down  for  us  to  ride; 
And,  sometimes,  out  we'd  fall,  and  bump 
Our  heads  and  faces — "Oh,  the  lump!" 

Sometimes  we'd  climb  up  in  the  mow, 
So  full  of  hay  we'd  wonder  how 
The  hens  could  hide  their  nests  away, 
While  we  played  all  the  livelong  day. 

Now  mother's  gone,  and  father,  too; 
Scattered  the  loved  ones,  tried  and  true, 
Some  in  the  churchyard  and  some  in  the  West; 
Deserted  and  empty,  the  dear  home  nest! 

In  fancy  I  see  them,  in  snowy  white, 
Beckoning  me  to  come  tonight ; 
And  when  my  work  down  here  is  done 
I'll  meet  and  greet  them  every  one. 


Page     fifty 


F 


Thy  Way  Is  Best 

ATHER,  I  know  'tis  best  for  me 

This  cup  that  Thou  dost  send; 
I  may  not  all  Thy  meaning  see 

As  up  life's  hill  I  wend; 
And  yet  I  know  that  'neath  this  woe 

The  struggling  roots  of  flowers  grow, 
And,  when  perfected  by  Thy  grace, 

They'll  bloom  in  many  a  sunny  place. 

How  often  have  I  turned  away 

From  all  these  bitter  things 
E'en  hoping  for  a  brighter  day, 

Wishing  my  roses  had  less  stings ; 
And  when  the  thorn  that  pierced  my  flesh 

Was  turned  by  Thee  to  a  caress 
I  smiled  and  sang  my  sweetest  song 

For  lo,  behold !  the  thorn  was  gone. 

And  so  I've  come  Thy  way  to  know 

Familiar,  like  a  path  well  worn; 
And  when  dark  clouds  loom  high  or  low 

I  rest  content  amidst  the  storm; 
Yea,  though  my  sky  be  overcast, 

I  know  the  blue  will  come  at  last, 
And  I  can  trust  when  I  cannot  see ; 

For  I  know  Thy  way  is  best  for  me. 


Pag-e     fifty-on 


I 


Cheerfulness 

N  a  work-a-day  world  like  this, 
Where  things  go  booming  along, 

We  are  just  as  young  as  the  heart  is ; 
And  this  shall  be  my  song. 

We  can  cry  from  now  till  doomsday, 
And  frown  till  the  wrinkles  come, 

But  the  dearest  thing  on  earth,  I  say, 
Is  a  cheerful  heart  at  home. 

Cheerfulness  puts  the  "growls"  to  flight, 

No  matter  where  or  when, 
When  there  are  cheerful  hearts  in  sight, 

Whether  three  score  or  ten. 

The  children  know  when  they  see  it 

Around  the  family  hearth; 
Then  let's  live  for  cheer,  and  be  it 

It's  the  dearest  thing  on  earth. 


Page     fifty-two 


A 


A  Little  Gleam 

LARGE  frame  house  with  comfort  filled 
Between  the  prairie  and  the  wood, 

Where  young  birds '  songs  in  passion  thrilled 
And  we  found  every  good. 

Dear  mother  waiting  at  the  door, 

The  queen  of  all  the  place, 
The  smile  her  dear  face  ever  wore 

Bordered  in  finest  lace. 

The  cherry  trees  we  planted  there, 

My  little  sister  and  I, 
Flung  out  their  blossoms  sweet  and  rare 

Beneath  a  loving  sky. 

There  every  spring  the  swallows  come 

With  all  their  chattering  glee, 
And  built  their  nests  the  very  same 

In  gable,  bush  and  lea. 

A  grassy  lane,  off  the  main  road, 

With  one  big  poplar  tree, 
Where  Pa  oft  halted  with  his  load, 

We  children  there  would  be. 

The  rows  of  corn  we  used  to  drop — 
How  long  they  grew  some  days ! 

While  I  helped  father  with  the  crop 
I'd  sandwich  in  my  lays. 

Oh,  those  were  happy  days,  dear,  then, 
When  life  flowed  like  a  dream, 

This  picture  I've  made  with  my  pen 
Is  but  a  little  gleam. 


Page     fifty  -  three 


N 


The  Empty  Nest 

0  one  but  God  will  ever  know 
How  hard  it  was  to  let  him  go ; 
The  last,  last  birdling  in  the  nest — 
It  may  be,  God  knows,  for  the  best. 

1  try  to  be  brave  and  smile  through  tears, 
But  when  I  think  of  the  lonesome  years — 
The  tears  well  fast  till  my  eyes  are  dim, 
For,  in  all  the  world,  I  had  but  him. 

How  often  in  childhood  he  knelt  by  me, 
His  blue  eyes  full  of  sympathy, 
Telling  me  how  he  loved  me  so, 
That  never  from  my  side  he  'd  go. 

Now  another  calls  him  all  her  own — 
I  sit  here  alone,  alone,  alone ! 
And  the  heart  aches  so  in  my  poor  breast- 
A  mother  alone  with  her  empty  nest. 


Page     fifty-four 


N 


The  Secret  of  Happiness 

OT  till  we've  begun  to  live  for  others 

Do  the  sweets  of  life  appear; 
When  refining  fire  burns  the  dross  it  covers 

Then  the  best  of  life  is  near. 


When  we've  solved  the  living  problem 
That  our  Heavenly  Father  planned, 

Then  we'll  gladly  help  our  fellowmen 
With  loving,  outstretched  hand. 

And  we  all  will  grow  wiser  and  better 

Each  day  as  we  truly  live, 
And  the  old  false  ring  will  not  fetter, 

For  the  true-hearted  freely  give. 

And  we'll  find  in  the  joy  of  living 

A  paradise  below; 
We'll  thrive  all  the  better  by  giving 

And  reap  just  what  we  sow. 


Page     f if ty -f i  v 


I 


/  Love  to  Remember 

LOVE  to  remember  mother 
Of  all  life's  memory  best, 

Her  love  for  us  like  no  other 
Made  home  a  place  of  rest. 

I  love  to  remember  the  beauty 
That  shone  on  her  patient  face, 

As  she  told  us,  "The  path  of  duty 
Was  ever  the  dearest  place." 

I  love  to  remember  the  prayer 
Lisped  at  her  tired  knee ; 

The  good  that  we  ever  found  there 
Will  live  through  eternity. 

I  love  to  remember  the  blessing, 
The  dear  voice  low  and  sweet, 

The  kiss  and  the  dear  caressing 
That  welcomed  our  coming  feet. 

Oh,  I  know  111  remember  forever 
The  place  she  made  so  dear, 

And  I'll  never  forget,  no,  never, 
How  she  ruled  by  love,  not  fear. 


Page     fifty-six 


The  Answered  Prayer 


i 


N  the  light  of  a  western  gleaming 

A  mother  waits  for  her  son, 
'Tis  of  him  alone  she  is  dreaming 

As  the  lengthening  shadows  run. 

On  her  face  are  traces  of  sorrow 

And  lines  of  weary  care ; 
"Perhaps,  he  will  come  tomorrow," 

Is  mingled  with  her  prayer. 

The  days  of  his  happy  childhood 

Pass  fair  before  her  eyes, 
When  he  was  innocent,  true  and  good, 

When  she  hushed  his  childish  cries. 

Long  years  ago  he  left  her 

To  face  the  world's  keen  blast; 

No  good-bye  was  spoken  to  mother — 
He  ran  away  at  last. 

But  she's  kept  the  light  in  the  window 
Thru  all  these  weary  years. 

How  often  it  streamed  o'er  the  meadow 
As  she  softly  wiped  her  tears. 

But  her  face  is  calm  this  evening 

As,  with  Bible  on  her  knee, 
She  forgets  the  pain  and  grieving 

God's  love  wells  up  so  free. 

She  has  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  glory 
That  trusting  always  brings, 

For  the  Risen  Christ  and  his  story 
Have  touched  the  hidden  springs. 


Page     fifty-seven 


The  Answered  Prayer 

She  had  often  heard  old  Rover 
As  he  barked  in  the  meadow  lone, 

But  tonight,  somehow  or  other, 
Her  heart  felt  less  of  pain. 

Yet,  listen !  yes,  'tis  something — 
She  hears  a  step  without — 

A  familiar  voice  is  chiding : — 
"Now,  Eover,  you  get  out." 

A  knock,  and  the  latch  is  lifted — 
A  bearded  man — 'tis  him! 

He  looks  so  fine  and  gifted, 
Can  that  be  her  dear  boy  Jim? 

Strong  arms  are  reached  to  hold  her, 

His  kiss  is  on  her  cheek, 
"Thank  God  you're  living,  mother!" 

How  her  old  heart  does  leap. 

"For  I've  come  home  to  care  for  you, 
And  love  you,  as  I  ought; 

Forgive  me,  mother,  can  you, 

For  the  sorrow  I  have  wrought?" 

And  the  angels  smiled  with  gladness 
At  the  beautiful  picture  there; 

Her  face  lost  all  its  sadness, 
For  God  had  answered  prayer. 


Page     fifty- eight 


I 


The  Homesick  Farmer 

'M  so  weary  of  the  city, 

Its  fashion  and  its  noise; 
The  people  here  I  pity, 

I  long  for  country  joys. 

"Give  me  the  life  that's  simple, 
Old-fashioned,  if  you  please, 

The  curve  of  an  honest  dimple, 
My  every-day  clothes  and  ease. 

"I  came  to  please  my  daughter  Bess, 

To  visit  her  a  spell; 
But  I've  stayed  long  enough,  I  guess- 

I  don't  feel  very  well. 

"Dear  Bess  is  kind  as  she  can  be, 
She  does  the  best  she  can; 

This  life  would  never  do  for  me — 
I'm  but  a  farmer-man. 

"My  coat  is  far  too  snug  a  fit, 
My  collar  chokes  me  quite, 

This  necktie,  I'm  not  used  to  it, 
My  shoes  don't  feel  just  right. 

"It's  harder  work  than  makin'  hay 

Or  watchin'   'taters  grow 
To  keep  yourself  dressed  up  all  day, 

Just  so's  to  make  a  show. 

"To  smile  and  bow  and  simper 

Just  for  the  sake  of  style, 
Would  make  an  idiot  whimper 

If  he  tried  it  all  the  while. 


Page     fifty-  nine 


The  Homesick  Farmer 

"I'm  homesick  for  the  mellow  light 

Of  sunset  on  the  farm; 
The  clover  blossoms  pure  and  white 

That  hold  me  with  their  charm. 

"Oh,  waving  grass  and  fields  of  grain, 

Ye  beckon  me  to  come ! 
I'll  know  no  longing,  know  no  pain 

When  once  in  sight  of  home. 

"I  guess  I'll  start  right  off  today — 

I  must  be  homesick,  sure; 
I'll  not  feel  well  till  on  the  way — 

There  is  no  other  cure." 


Page     sixty 


SITY 


') 

Bessie 


s 


LOWLY  the  cow-bells  jingle 

Along  the  grassy  lane, 
While  distant  noises  mingle 

With  scent  of  new  mown  grain. 

The  crimson  glory  from  the  West 
Floods  sky  and  field  and  plain, 

A  belated  robin  from  the  nest 
Is  flying  home  again. 

The  lowing  kine  impatient 
Wait  at  the  farm-yard  gate; 

And  father,  on  his  work  intent, 
Says,  "Milkin's  rather  late." 

"I'm  hungry,  too,  I  want  to  sup; 

The  cows  have  waited  long. 
Now  hurry,  wash  the  dishes  up, 

You  dream  too  much,  it's  wrong. 

But  Bessie  gazes  at  the  sky, 
Forgetful  of  where  she  is; 

The  maiden  has  a  poet's  eye 
For  just  such  scenes  as  this. 

Slowly  she  drags  herself  to  work, 
Hiding  the  tears  that  come, 

Wishing  she  could  only  shirk 
Or  else  be  blind  and  dumb. 


Page     sixty-one 


A 


An  Old- Fashioned  Memory 

H,  they  pass  like  the  breeze  o'er  the  clover 

The  pictures  that  memory  leaves. 
Though  I've  traveled  this  wild  world  over, 

They're  the  sweetest  that  fancy  weaves. 

The  cottage,  the  woodland,  the  sheep  in  the  meadow, 

The  sun  slanting  low  in  the  west; 
The  porch  and  its  woodbine,  the  slow  climbing  shadow 

So  calm  with  its  hallow  of  rest. 

The  orchard,  the  laugh,  the  chat  in  the  twilight, 

The  first  kiss — and  afterwards  two — 
The  cows  and  the  bars,  the  starlit  night, 

The  fairest  I  ever  knew. 

The  cellar,  the  milk  pans,  the  sound  of  the  strainer, 

What  memory  was  ever  more  sweet? 
The  smile,  and  the  blush,  no  admission  was  plainer 

While  shyly  our  hands  would  meet. 

The  long  cozy  talks  by  the  old  front  gate ; 

The  moon  almost  hid  by  the  trees, 
Her  mother's  soft  whisper,  "It's  getting  late," 

The  lingering  clasp  and  squeeze. 

But  why  I  should  think  of  all  this  tonight 

I'm  sure  I  never  can  tell, 
Unless  it's  because  her  sweet  face,  as  I  write, 

Holds  for  me  the  same  old  spell. 


Page     sixty-two 


The  Christmas  Turkey  (A  Fact) 


o 


LD  Green  was  a  merry  cobbler 

Pegging  all  day  with  a  will. 
He  had  his  eyes  on  a  gobbler 

Seven  wee  girls'  stomachs  to  fill. 

But  I  heard  some  news  this  morning — 

They  had  another  one, 
And  he  was  raving  and  storming 

Because  it  wasn't  a  son. 

But  I  could  hardly  blame  him — 

Eight  girls  all  in  a  string. 
Ah,  one  little  boy  could  tame  him 

With  all  that  love  could  bring. 

He  never  looked  at  the  darling — 
The  little  red  shivering  mite — 

He  just  went  around  and  was  snarling- 
They  all  kept  out  of  his  sight. 

The  little  tots  hid  in  the  corner 

Whenever  he'd  come  in, 
The  house  was  like  when  the  mourners 

Are  begging  because  of  sin. 

But  mother  was  resting  easy 
(She'd  had  the  same  old  smile), 

While  dear,  darling  sister  Lizzie 
Said,  "He'll  quit  after  a  while." 


Page     sixty-three 


The  Christmas  Turkey  (A  Fact) 

He  declared  he  'd  give  up  the  turkey 

Because  it  wasn't  a  boy, 
But  they  noticed  his  eyes  grew  murky ; 

From  his  pocket,  he  drew  a  toy. 

Ma  said,  "Pork  and  beans  would  do 
For  us  this  Christmas  year." 

When  law  me !  he  jes  took  out  a  chew 
And  said,  "The  turkey's  here." 


M 


The  Lord  Loves  His  Own 

Y  neighbor  has  lost  her  baby, 
The  hearse  is  at  the  door; 

I  know,  though  she's  a  rich  lady, 
Her  heart  must  be  very  sore. 

I  hugged  my  own  more  closely 
For  the  loss  across  the  street; 

I  pity  that  mother,  so  lonely, 
Her  baby  was  so  sweet. 

I  see  the  carriages  lining 

In  rows,  there,  over  the  way, 

I  question  then,  tears  shining, 
Why  her  baby  was  taken  away. 

That  question  I  could  not  answer. 

The  mother  sits  there  alone. . . 
Ah,  hark !  I  have  got  the  answer : 

"God  loves,  and  takes  his  own." 


Page     sixty-four 


H 


The  Roadside  Well 

ER  dress  was  an  old-fashioned  print  of  blue, 

She  stood  by  the  roadside  well, 
Sweet,  demure  and  dainty  too, 

With  a  manner  that  became  her  well. 

Along  the  road  a  horseman  came 

Riding  an  iron  gray, 
And  life  was  never  quite  the  same 

To  either  after  that  day. 

She  held  the  dipper  in  her  hand, 

It  was  made  of  common  tin, 
And  neither  one  could  understand 

How  bright  it  grew,  out  and  in. 

I'll  ask  her  for  a  drink,  thought  he, 

And  that  will  break  the  ice — 
While  blushing  red  as  she  could  be 

She  filled  the  dipper  twice. 

No  water  ever  seemed  so  clear 

As  this  from  that  old  well. 
'Twas  perfect  bliss  to  see  her  near, 

His  love  now  he  must  tell. 

There  they  stood  beneath  the  blue, 

A  picture  for  any  poet, 
For  well  he  knew  he  loved  her  too 

And  couldn't  help  but  show  it. 


Page     sixty-five 


A 


The  Roadside  Well  continued 

"Dear  maiden  will  you  marry  me?" 

(He  said  it  like  a  man), 
While  she  as  innocent  as  could  be 

Said,  "Yes,  sir,  if  I  can." 

She  put  her  dimpled  hand  in  his 
And  had  no  thought  to  falter, 

Thus  proving  that  which  true  love  is, 
That  time  nor  fate  can  alter. 

Now  this  is  all  there  is  to  say, 

My  simple  tale  is  done ; 
They  met  each  other  there  that  day 

And  each  a  true  heart  won. 

No  flirting  or  saying,  "Wait  awhile," 

They  sealed  it  with  a  kiss. 
She 's  standing  near  me  with  a  smile 

While  I  am  writing  this. 


A  Good  Combination 

KIND  word  costs  so  little,  dear, 

A  smile  costs  even  less, 
And  these  combined  will  bring  good  cheer 

To  some  soul  in  distress. 


Page     sixty-six 


T 


Prohibition  Has  Come  to  Stay 

HERE  goes  a  man,  his  nose  is  red ; 

His  children  at  home  are  crying  for  bread; 

He  takes  the  world  easy,  drinks  poisonous  gin; 

While  his  poor,  patient  wife  is  growing  so  thin. 

The  neighbors  they  pity  and  say,  "It's  too  bad, 

Smith's  children  are  ragged  and  looking  so  sad." 

The  brewer  he  smiles  and  drives  his  fat  horses, 
While  the  drunkard  falls  in  the  street  as  he  crosses, 
And  men  of  good  sense  all  sit  at  their  ease, 
And  ask  God  to  bless  this  great  curse,  if  you  please ; 
While  the  children  are  reared  in  this  hotbed  of  sin — 
A  country  that  flows  in  wine,  brandy  and  gin. 

The  groans  that  are  rising  are  filling  the  air, 
While  heartbroken  women  are  kneeling  in  prayer, 
And  lives  are  o'errunning  with  anguish  and  pain 
Because  of  the  rule  of  rum's  heartrending  reign; 
Alas,  o  'er  our  country  the  cry  has  gone  up : 
"God  keep  our  boys  from  the  poison  cup." 

We  look  at  the  tender,  untried  feet 

That  pass  as  we  go  along  the  street, 

While  we  hug  our  little  ones  to  our  side ; 

For  the  stream  that  is  flowing  is  deep  and  wide. 

When  the  seething  waters  come  so  near, 

Is  it  any  wonder  we  shudder  with  fear? 


Page     sixty-seven 


Prohibition  Has  Come  to  Stay 

Ah,  ye  in  homes  of  peace  tonight, 

What  have  ye  to  say  of  rum's  sad  blight; 

Of  lives  made  wretched,  hearts  torn  and  bled, 

And  hungry  little  ones  crying  for  bread, 

And  staggering  footsteps  coming  to  meet 

Homes  where  the  bitter  is  more  than  the  sweet? 

Too  long  have  we  watched  for  a  rift  in  the  cloud, 
With  hearts  all  crushed  and  heads  all  bowed; 
But  now  we  must  rise  in  the  strength  God  has  given, 
And  plead  that  our  cries  may  pierce  yon  heaven, 
And  show  to  the  world  we  mean  what  we  say — 
That  Prohibition  has  come  to  stay. 


H 


Perfect  Trust 

APPY  are  they  who  all  the  day 
Can  on  the  Lord  their  burdens  lay; 
Can  look  up  through  the  mist  and  tears, 
And  see  the  light  ahead  that  cheers, 
Knowing  that  all  these  trials  given 
Are  but  the  pruning  tests  for  Heaven ; 
Content  to  know  God  leads  and  lives, 
That  what  is  best  for  growth  He  gives. 
They  who  have  never  known  this  trust 
Stand  back  and  languish,  as  they  must, 
Missing  the  good  for  every  soul, 
The  leaven  that  leaveneth  the  whole. 


Page     sixty-eight 


D 


The  Good  Word  Now 

ONT  wait  till  death  has  set  me  free 
To  lay  flowers  on  my  brow ; 

If  you  have  one  good  word  for  me 
Make  haste  to  say  it  now. 

I  want  to  hear  while  I  am  living 
The  best  your  heart  can  give. 

True  words,  kind  and  forgiving, 
To  help  me  while  I  live. 

Don't  wait  till  the  bell  is  tolling 
To  chant  my  praises,  dear, 

Give  me  some  word  consoling, 
To  comfort  while  I'm  here. 

To  put  flowers  in  a  pulseless  hand 

Is  mockery  I  trow; 
Don't  silence  love  at  your  command 

But  say  the  good  word  now. 


Page     sixty-nine 


w 


Whose  Mother  Is  It  ? 

HEN  mother  gets  too  poor  and  old 

They  don't  want  her  around. 
They  go  to  her,  so  I  am  told, 

And  tell  of  a  place  they've  found. 
They  tell  of  porches  broad  and  wide 

That  reach  around  the  place; 
Where  she  in  comfort  can  abide 

And  wear  fine  caps  of  lace. 

Where  everything  is  clean  and  nice, 

Not  a  particle  of  dirt; 
And  they  are  willing  to  pay  the  price — 

(To  make  her  old  heart  hurt). 
And  then  poor  mother  begins  to  shiver, 

She  nearly  turns  to  stone ; 
Forgets,  almost,  that  God's  a  giver, 

She  gets  no  love  from  her  own. 

The  birds  build  in  the  porches  there, 

They  warble  and  they  sing, 
While  mother  sits  with  whitened  hair, 

Her  love's  a  forgotten  thing. 
Soon  the  empty  nest  hangs  from  the  bough 

And  life  goes  on  the  same. 
Thank  God,  dear  mother's  resting  now 

Where  love  is  a  living  flame ! 


Page     seventy 


N 


Not  As  I  Will 

OT  as  I  will,"  dear  Lord,  I  pray, 
Give  me  the  strength  to  see 

That  Thy  way  is  a  better  way 
Than  mine  could  ever  be. 


''Not  as  I  will,"  oh,  make  it  plain 

So  I  can  see  my  way 
To  follow  Thee  through  loss  or  gain, 

My  burdens  on  Thee  lay. 

"Not  as  I  will,"  the  thought  is  sweet, 

To  leave  it  all  with  Thee, 
My  will,  my  gifts,  my  all  complete — 

Just  what  is  best  for  me. 

"Not  as  I  will,"  I  am  His  child, 

He  loves  me,  this  I  know; 
He  makes  me  glad  and  reconciled, 

He  calms  the  storms  that  blow. 


Page     seventy-one 


A 


The  Plains  of  Peace 

FTER  all  the  work  and  trying, 
After  all  our  grief  and  pain, 
There's  a  bright  spot  underlying, 
Like  sunshine  after  rain. 

No  good  will  He  withhold  us 
Who  loves  us  all  the  time, 

In  crucible  He  holds  us, 

Your  wayward  heart  and  mine. 

While  we  in  stubborn  blindness 

Cry  oft  as  children  do, 
The  while  His  loving  kindness 

Makes  ways  for  me  and  you. 

It  takes  so  long  for  us  often 
To  understand  God's  ways. 

He  has  His  way  our  hearts  to  soften 
And  plans  all  the  delays. 

At  last  we  reach  the  valley 
Of  dear  content  and  peace, 

The  place  where  angels  rally, 
The  plains  where  sorrows  cease. 


Page     seventy-two 


I 


The  New  Baby 

HEARD  a  new  noise  in  the  house 

I  never  had  heard  before ; 
It  sounded  like  a  squealing  mouse 
Hidden  behind  the  door. 

Pa's  face  was  all  aglow  with  smiles, 
The  nurse  smiled  knowingly,  too ; 

The  neighbors  all  came  in  for  miles — 
Baby  was  on  review. 

We  dressed  him  in  his  Sunday  best 

Embroidered  bib  and  all; 
The  way  they  hauled  him  out  of  his  nest 

Would  make  any  baby  squall. 

I  grew  indignant  at  them  all 

For  handling  my  baby  so ; 
I  ordered  Pa  the  nurse  to  call 

And  tell  them  all  to  go. 


Page     se v e n t y - t h r e e 


A 


What  A  Good  Word  Did 

GOOD  word  started  out  one  day; 
Its  mission  to  fulfill. 
'It  went  where  happy  children  play 
And  made  them  happier  still. 

And  then  it  hurried  on  apace 

To  a  poor  widow's  cot; 
It  brought  the  smiles  to  her  poor  old  face 

Like  sunshine  in  a  garden  plot. 

And  all  this  time  the  sun  grew  low 

Out  in  the  western  sky, 
And  still  it  lingered,  could  not  go, 

It  heard  somebody  sigh. 

And  Sorrow  peeped  from  out  her  door 
And  whispered,  "Do  come  here, 

My  breaking  heart  is,  oh,  so  sore ! 
I  need  a  little  cheer." 

It  went  in  there  though  it  was  night, 
.  That  little  word  so  strong; 
It  touched  a  pillow  where,  wan  and  white, 
A  woman  had  lain  years  long. 

It  brought  the  glow  of  health  to  her, 
Bright  smiles  where  once  were  tears ; 

And  proved  love 's  dear  interpreter, 
Brought  gladness  to  her  years. 

If  one  little  word  can  do  so  much 

"What  may  not  a  whole  lot  do, 
If  they  start  forth  with  a  loving  touch 

And  tell  their  story  true? 


Page     seventy-four 


T 


Her  First  Love  Song 

ONIGHT  when  I  put  down  the  bars, 
And  drive  out  the  lowing  kine, 

I'll  tell  my  story  to  the  stars 
And  tell  it  all  in  rhyme. 

For,  oh,  me!  I  must  tell  some  one 
About  this  love  I've  found, 

How  when  the  closing  day  is  done 
I  love  to  have  him  'round. 

I  know  that  they  will  never  tell 
He  kissed  me  yesterday; 

Ah !  they  will  keep  my  secret  well 
And  all  I  have  to  say. 

I'll  tell  them  how  my  fate  I  met 
In  life's  dear  winding  lane; 

How  Love  came  in  with  quiver  set ; 
I  wasn't  a  bit  to  blame. 

And,  also,  how  he  came  to  me, 

A  ray  of  joy  and  mirth, 
Bringing  his  heart  aflame  to  me, 

This  kingly  son  of  earth. 

How  I,  a  bashful  little  maid, 
Just  saw  him  passing  by, 

How  I,  a  little  bit  afraid, 
Looked  at  him  rather  shy. 


Page     seventy-five 


Her  First  Love  Song  continued 

This  love  of  mine  is  something  new, 
It's  changed  my  life  complete; 

I  hear  him  now,  he's  singing  too, 
It  echoes  across  the  wheat. 

I  feel  the  thrill  of  a  new  song  now 
Since  my  love  loves  me  so. 

Why,  every  bird  upon  the  bough 
Warbles,  "I  know,  I  know." 


F 


A  Lost  Thought 

ROM  o'er  life's  ever-changing  sea 
A  grand  thought  floated  out  to  me, 
As  though  an  angel  brought  it,  too, 
The  music  was  most  rare  and  new. 


My  waiting  heart  thrilled  with  delight 
At  glowing  words  that  I  should  write, 
I  aimed  to  catch  them  on  the  wing 
Then  sat  me  down  my  song  to  sing. 

When  lo !  at  distance,  dim  and  gray, 
My  thought  like  seaweed  whirled  away. 
I  sat  all  day  by  the  changing  shore 
But  that  dear  thought  returned  no  more. 


Pag-e     seventy -six 


S 


For  the  Children's  Sake 

HE  married  me,  a  poor  young  man, 
According  to  the  modern  plan ; 
The  first  year  was  a  year  of  bliss ; 
She  never  failed  a  true  wife's  kiss. 

Fool  that  I  was  to  dream  that  she 
Could  live  her  whole  life  loving  me. 
The  very  glance  of  her  dark  eyes 
Proclaimed  the  depths  of  hidden  lies. 

But  I  kept  on  unmindful  yet 

Of  all  the  pitfalls  fate  had  set, 

My  poor  heart  almost  turned  to  stone — 

Hungry  I  sat  among  my  own. 

Now  with  my  coffers  full  of  gold 
And  all  of  life's  tales  almost  told, 
I  look,  alas,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes 
At  all  the  ruin  that  round  me  lies. 

There  is  no  love  between  us  now — 
The  silver  rim  is  on  my  brow — 
'Tis  only  for  the  children's  sake 
Life's  straight  appointed  way  we  take. 


Page     s  e  v  e  n  t  y  -  s  e  v  e  n 


I 


Spring  Had  Come 

NEVER  knew  the  poppies  were  out 
Till  I  heard  the  children  laugh  and  shout, 
Coming  home  with  their  hands  all  full 
Of  the  golden  cups  so  beautiful. 

'Mid  the  city's  noise  and  crowd  and  din, 
By  four  walls  almost  hidden  in, 
I  never  dreamed  that  spring  had  come 
Till  the  children  brought  the  flowers  home. 

I  placed  them  on  the  mantelpiece, 
Then  sat  me  down  for  a  short  release, 
Gazing  at  them  with  hungry  eyes; 
The  children  had  taken  me  by  surprise, 
And  I  was  delighted,  like  a  child, 
For  spring  had  come,  and  I  was  wild. 


o 


A  Little  Streak 

WHAT  a  beautiful  streak  in  the  sky— 

I  called  my  neighbor  too, 
And  both  spellbound,  she  and  I, 
The  smile  on  our  facejs  grew. 

'Twas  only  a  little  streak,  you  know, 

But  it  started  the  day  aright ; 
It  led  us  out  where  violets  grow, 

Where  angels  walk  in  white. 

We  needed  no  preacher  nor  dim  church  aisle 

To  tell  us  we  had  a  God : 
We  peeped  out  every  little  while 

At  coaxing  sky  and  sod. 


Page     seventy-eight 


Berrying 


H 


OW  we  used  to  hunt  for  berries — 

Do  you  remember,  dear, 
How  we  wandered  o'er  the  pasture 

When  the  days  were  bright  and  clear? 

How  they  hung  in  luscious  clusters     . 

Enough  to  tempt  a  king? 
How  glad  we  were  to  find  them 

And  home  to  mother  bring? 

How  the  birds  sang  trills  of  gladness 

Tempting  us  out  at  morn? 
How  welcome  was  the  echo 

Of  the  sounding  dinner  horn? 

Do  you  recollect  the  grassy  lane 

That  stretched  so  far  away, 
And  the  very  corner  where  we  sat 

To  twine  the  flowers  of  May? 

Oh!  those  were  happy  days,  dear, 
When  you  and  I  were  young, 

And  the  days  we  went  a-berrying, 
Are  in  my  memory  hung. 

Ah,  the  fairy  land  we  found  then ! 

What  dreams  will  now  compare 
To  the  castles  we  built  then,  dear, 

In  the  berry-scented  air? 

Ah,  dear,  have  I  been  dreaming? 

Come,  let  me  kiss  your  brow — 
The  old  place  is  sold  to  strangers 

And  we  buy  our  berries  now. 


Page     seventy-nine 


W 


They  Are  Babies  Yet 

HEN  the  children  hung  about  my  knee, 

And  life  was  full  of  care ; 
A  holy  joy  hung  over  me, 

A  joy  we  all  could  share. 


They'd  often  step  upon  my  toes, 

Climbing  up  for  a  kiss ; 
But,  oh,  such  little  slips  as  those 

Could  never  mar  our  bliss. 

But  who  on  earth  would  ever  check 
The  touch  of  those  little  hands? 

The  dimpled  arms  about  my  neck 
Were  so  many  jewel  bands. 

And  life  went  on  with  a  merry  rush — 
My  babies  are  grown  up  now; 

But  the  song  in  my  heart  will  never  hush, 
They  are  babies  yet,  somehow. 


Page     eighty 


H 


One  Mother's  Heart 

E  was  my  last  dear  loving  boy; 
Each  day  he  brought  me  some  new  joy. 
Our  lives  went  on  like  a  peaceful  dream, 
His  love  for  me  the  one  bright  gleam. 

I  made  such  plans  where  he  would  climb, 
I  loved  him  well,  that  boy  of  mine. 
I  never  thought  the  time  would  come 
When  he  would  grace  another  home. 

I  know  'tis  the  way  that  all  birds  do, 
To  leave  the  nest  and  build  for  two. 
I  must  stay  here  in  the  nest  alone, 
Wish  them  the  happiness  I  have  known. 

Though  another  calls  him  "all  her  joy," 
He  is  mine  still,  my  boy,  my  boy! 
My  tears  drop  on  this  as  I  write — 
I  miss  him,  I  miss  him  so  tonight. 


Page     e  igh ty -  on 


I 


My  Babies 

MISS  you,  my  babies,  I  miss  you, 
Your  sweet  childish  prattle  so  dear; 
I  reach  out  my  arms  to  caress  you, 
But  find  only  emptiness  here. 

In  your  beds  'neath  the  grasses  and  daisies 
You  know  not  the  depth  of  my  pain. 

I  want  you,  my  babies,  my  babies, 
Why  sleep  you  out  there  in  the  rain ! 

I  stand  by  the  window  in  waiting, 

My  treasures,  ah,  where  have  you  flown? 

Do  you  know  mother's  warm  heart  is  breaking, 
My  darlings,  my  babies,  my  own? 

The  rain  patters  down  on  the  clover, 
The  robin  chirps  low  in  the  wheat ; 

Sad,  sad  is  the  heart  of  your  mother, 
As  softly  your  names  I  repeat. 

I  call  you  at  morning,  at  evening — 
No  voice  answers  back  to  my  cry, 

And  I  sit  here  alone  in  my  grieving, 
And  ask  why  my  darlings  should  die. 

Then  out  of  the  silence  that  greets  me, 

A  rainbow  of  promise  appears ; 
God's  love  is  the  solace  that  meets  me. 

And  bravely  I  smile  thru  my  tears. 


Page     eighty-two 


w 


God's  Tenderness 

E  wonder  sometimes  at  the  testing 

God  gives  His  children  here. 
Why  He  sends  us  the  storm  before  the  resting 

When  the  beautiful  blue  is  near. 

We  wonder  at  the  way  He  leads  us, 

Poor,  blind  mortals  that  we  be, 
When  for  His  work  down  here  He  needs  us, 

Poor,  unworthy  you  and  me. 

Every  day  we  find  some  blessing 

His  goodness  ever  sends, 
The  tender  grass  our  feet  are  pressing 

With  His  great  love  it  blends. 

Where'er  we  look  His  tenderness 

Is  shown  in  everything. 
Then  we,  how  could  we  love  Him  less, 

Or  fail  His  praise  to  sing? 


Page     eighty-three 


o 


The  Way  of  The  Cross 

H,  neighbors  old  and  young  and  gray, 
Bowed  down  with  loads  of  care, 

For  you  I'll  sing  a  song  today, 
Your  load  I'll  help  to  bear. 


I  know  your  heartache  and  your  tears- 
(Show  me  where  they  are  not), 

I  want  to  say  a  word  that  cheers, 
I  know  the  heart's  sore  spot. 

I've  suffered,  too,  and  that  is  how 

I  know  your  pain  so  well, 
And  that  is  why  I'm  anxious  now 

The  way  of  the  cross  to  tell. 

I  see  you  when  the  shadows  fall 

At  noon  and  morning  time. 
It  seems  there  is  a  cross  for  all, 

Your  shoulders  as  well  as  mine. 

But,  oh,  they  vary  in  size  and  weight, 

I  wonder  why  'tis  so. 
Some  reach  way  beyond  Heaven's  gate 

And  Christ's  dear  message  show. 

I  see  some  trailing  in  the  dust, 

Oh,  where  do  they  belong? 
Neglected,  trampled,  lost  to  trust, 

Their  owners  going  wrong. 


Page     eighty-four 


The  Way  of  The  Cross 

I  see  another  small  and  neat, 

A  tiny  little  cross, 
The  owner  lives  across  the  street, 

Her  soul  has  suffered  loss. 


The  only  little  one  she  had 

The  Master  took  one  day, 
And  though  she  smiles,  her  eyes  are  sad, 

She's  learned  "God's  will"  to  say. 

Another  lost  her  only  son 
When  grown  to  man's  estate; 

But  in  his  loss  a  crown  she  won, 
Her  cross  has  lost  its  weight. 

And  others  still  have  lost  their  health, 

Their  plans  are  all  laid  low. 
They  plead  in  vain  for  life's  best  wealth, 

Their  cheeks  have  lost  their  glow. 

'Tis  then  they  know  their  weakness  best, 

No  one  but  God  can  cure; 
Yet  when  we  show  our  meekness  best 

He  helps  us  to  endure. 

Another  was  a  drunkard's  wife, 

The  cross  was  hard  to  bear, 
And  often  the  sharp  pruning  knife 

Left  deep  scars  everywhere. 


Page     eighty-five 


The  Way  of  The  Cross 

And  yet  she  held  that  cross  of  woe, 
Close  to  her  bleeding  breast, 

And  through  it  all  God  loved  her  so, 
He  planned  her  way  the  best. 

Her  cross  grew  beautiful  and  bright, 
No  more  it  crushed  her  down; 

The  words  she  sang  thrilled  with  delight, 
"No  cross  without  a  crown." 


A  Little  Word  of  Prayer 


N 


OT  less  of  sorrow,  Lord, 

I  ask  today  of  Thee, 
But  strength  to  bear  the  load 

A  bit  more  patiently. 

Not  easier  paths  for  me, 
But  greater  length  of  grace, 

That  I  Thy  follower  may  be 
In  every  time  and  place. 

Not  empty  hands  to  hold, 
But  plenty  sheaves  to  bring. 

When  all  life's  story's  told 
Thy  praises  still  to  sing. 


Page     eighty-six 


A 


Two  Babies 

FTER  the  painful  battle  was  fought 
Not  one  baby,  but  two,  they  brought. 
'I  looked  at  the  tiny,  helpless  things: 
Two  little  angels,  minus  wings. 


Then  all  the  love  that  heart  could  hold 
Rushed  out  both  darlings  to  enfold. 
Oh,  me !  how  well  I  remember  the  bliss 
Of  having  those  little  dears  to  kiss. 

So  much  alike,  you  could  not  tell — 

And  Grandma  kept  saying,  "Well,  well,  well! 

The  clothes  you  made  are  all  too  big; 

Not  one  of  them  is  worth  a  fig." 

But  only  one,  God  let  me  keep — 
Softly  one  morn  one  went  to  sleep; 
But  still  I  had  a  treasure  left, 
My  poor  heart  was  not  quite  bereft. 

And  now  I  smile  through  tearful  eyes, 
My  babies  beckon  from  the  skies. 
And  some  day,  and  it  won't  be  long, 
I'll  sing  with  them  a  holier  song. 


Pag-e     eighty-seven 


If  I  Could  Have  My  Way 


i 


F  I  could  always  have  my  way, 
Be  care-free  all  the  live-long  day, 
With  nothing  to  hinder  or  molest, 
I  wonder  if  it  would  be  best? 

To  have  life's  sorrows  vanish  quite, 
My  pathway  ever  fair  and  bright, 
Life's  sweetest  roses  on  my  breast, 
I  wonder  if  it  would  be  best? 

To  have  the  smoothest  path  of  life, 
With  no  touch  of  the  pruning  knife, 
My  heart  says,  No,  it  would  not  be 
The  best  or  wisest  thing  for  me. 

Some  plants  need  more  of  shade  than  sun 
To  make  the  perfect  colors  run; 
And  oft  sharp  pruning  in  the  spring, 
That  they  abundant  fruit  may  bring. 

If  this,  dear  Lord,  be  what  I  need, 

Prune  Thou,  then,  though  the  branches  bleed, 

And  water  with  Thy  grace  divine 

Each  tiny  root  that  makes  the  vine. 

Till  every  stalk,  and  stem,  and  shoot, 
Has  Thy  inspiration  at  the  root, 
That  my  life-vine  may  bloom,  and  bring 
Blest  fruitage  for  Thy  garnering. 


Page     eighty -eight 


o 


Our  Best 

H,  for  a  heart  that's  cheery, 
Oh,  for  a  soul  that's  strong, 

To  lean  on  when  we're  weary, 
When  days  seem  sad  and  long. 

Oh,  for  a  word  of  kindness, 
Trifles  we  think  they  are, 

They  are  gems  of  rarest  fineness 
And,  oh,  they  reach  so  far. 

Oh,  for  the  good  most  needed 

As  we  go  up  and  down, 
Were  our  best  thought  but  heeded 

We  all  would  wear  a  crown. 

Oh,  be  a  cheerful  liver, 
Helping  where'er  you  go, 

Thanking  the  Gracious  Giver 
For  all  the  good  we  know. 

Oh,  for  a  heart  that's  humble, 
True  and  good  and  kind, 

Oh,  God,  don't  let  us  grumble, 
Help  us  "Our  Best"  to  find. 


Page     eighty-nine 


P 


If  Wed  Forgive 

LENTY  of  love  there  is,  and  boundless; 
Still  lives  starve  each  day  around  us, 
Hungering  for  a  child's  sweet  kiss 
And  little  things  that  make  life's  bliss. 


All  too  slow  are  we  in  giving 
What  would  make  a  life  worth  living. 
Hoarding,  yielding  such  paltry  dole, 
When  we  might  help  a  human  soul. 

Ah!  the  plan  that  God  intended 
All  the  way  with  love  is  blended; 
We  would  heal  hearts  by  the  score, 
If  we'd  forgive,  be  like  Him  more. 


w 


The  Happiest  Soul 

E  all  love  cheerful  people  best, 

No  matter  where  we  go, 
Be  it  North  or  South  or  East  or  West, 

Smiles  will  make  a  sad  heart  glow. 


Human  hearts  are  about  the  same 
When  it  comes  to  love  and  cheer, 

It's  not  very  hard  to  start  the  flame 
When  enough  of  love  is  near. 

A  sour  face  and  hard  old  frown 

Will  drive  anyone  away, 
And  the  happiest  soul  in  town 

Is  one  who  smiles  today. 


Page     ninety 


s 


Life's  Best  Pleasure 

HE  brought  me  a  rose  to  cheer  me, 

She  knew  I  loved  them  so ; 
As  the  scent  of  the  rose  came  near  me 

My  heart  began  to  glow. 

With  the  rose  she  brought  good  feeling, 

And  kindness  in  her  heart; 
Real  love  for  me  revealing 

With  all  its  magic  art. 

As  I  thanked  her  for  the  flower 

With  all  a  child's  delight; 
I  thought  how  simple  a  dower 

May  make  a  sad  heart  light. 

For  I  had  been  feeling  lonely, 

The  Sabbath  day  was  long; 
But  when  she  brought  the  rose  to  me, 

My  heart  burst  into  song. 


Page     ninety-on 


I 


Gathering1  Home 

HEAR  the  tramp  of  coming  feet, 

Loved  ones  gathering  home, 
To  me  it's  music  dear  and  sweet 
As  from  their  work  they  come. 

Husband,  father,  brother  and  son, 
Each  one  gathering  there 

After  the  toiling  day  is  done, 
The  joys  of  home  to  share. 

I  see  a  father  take  the  hand 
Of  his  toddling  little  one, 

And  then  it  is  I  understand 
How  beautiful  love  can  run. 

I  see  the  mother  at  the  gate 

With  kisses  for  large  and  small, 

As  patiently  their  turn  they  wait, 
She  has  enough  for  all. 

I  love  to  think,  as  I  hear  them  come, 
Of  a  gathering  over  there, 

Where  we  in  that  celestial  home 
Eternal  joys  will  share. 


Page     ninety-two 


T 


My  Meadow 

HE  walls  of  my  room  seemed  to  bind  me, 

I  wanted  to  get  away 
Where  the  Angel  of  Freedom  could  find  me 

And  there  in  gladness  stay. 

A  glimpse  of  blue  at  my  window 

Framing  a  golden  glow 
Made  my  heart  bloom  out  like  a  meadow 

Where  early  wild  flowers  grow. 

A  home-loving  robin  in  passing 

Warbled  a  song  in  her  flight, 
And  I  like  a  child  trespassing 

Sang,  too,  with  all  my  might. 

The  blooms  in  my  meadow  were  blowing 
To  the  music  of  wideawake  dreams, 

While  my  little  wild  flowers  were  throwing 
The  perfume,  that  lives,  and  redeems. 


Page     ninety-three 


N 


How  Mother  Rested 

OW  I  sit  me  down  to  rest, 

Not  a  speck  of  dirt; 
Every  chick  has  left  the  nest, 

How  my  heart  does  hurt. 

Every  day  is  just  the  same, 

Silence  all  about; 
Tell  me  not  love's  but  a  name, 

0,  for  a  child  to  shout! 

Give  me  dirt  and  give  me  noise — 

I'd  endure  it  all 
If  I  could  only  have  my  boys 

Near  me  when  I  call. 

Children  never  seem  to  think 

When  they  go  away, 
How  a  mother's  heart  will  sink 

If  they  go  to  stay. 


Pagre     ninety-four 


Where  The  Praise  Belongs 


o 


H,  I  want  to  be  humble,  Lord, 
And  work  where'er  I  may  be 

And  leave  some  comforting  word 
That  breathes  of  love  and  Thee. 

There  are  hungry  hearts  about  us 
Here,  there,  and  everywhere. 

Out  from  our  lethargy  rout  us 
To  work  for  Thee  anywhere. 

1  'The  fields  are  white  for  the  harvest 

The  laborers  are  few." 
Now  help  us,  Lord,  to  do  our  best; 

And  praise  to  Thee  is  due. 


Page     ninety-five 


o 


Roses 

H,  how  I  love  the  roses, 

The  tiny  buds  and  all, 
Their  gold  hearts  where  the  bee  reposes, 

Their  leaves  that  drop  and  fall. 

I  grew  up  a  child  among  the  roses, 

Happy  all  day  long. 
No  one  knew  better  than  I  the  posies 

That  made  my  life  a  song. 

There  was  one  rose  I  loved  to  see, 
Large  as  a  saucer,  and  pink, 

It  scattered  its  leaflets  over  me 
When  I  was  too  small  to  think. 

And  there  was  still  another 

In  clusters  pure  and  white, 
The  favorite  of  my  mother 

That  gave  her  most  delight. 

But  the  dear  bush  of  my  childhood 

Grew  up  by  mother's  door, 
Blooming  in  clusters  a  blood-red  brood 

Where  their  thorns  my  dresses  tore. 

And  yet  I  loved  those  roses  best 
For  all  the  thorns  they  had ; 

For  mother  would  sit  by  them  and  rest, 
Smiling  to  see  us  glad. 


Page     ninety-six 


Continued 


In  that  dear  holy  rose-lit  place, 
We  children  at  her  feet, 

The  roses  falling  about  her  face 
In  benediction  sweet. 

Oh,  how  I  do  love  roses, 

Red  or  pink  or  white  ! 
Though  mother  in  Heaven  reposes 

She's  in  this  thought  tonight. 


o 


The  Call 

HEAR  the  wild  birds  calling, 

Calling  me  to  the  door; 
The  apple  blossoms  falling 
All  over  the  porch  and  floor. 

I  drink  in  all  this  beauty — 
God  made  it  to  revel  in — 

I  hear  no  call  to  duty, 
I  feel  no  touch  of  sin. 

These  wild  birds  with  their  singing 
Do  each  their  little  part. 

So  may  I,  my  song  bringing, 
Touch  some  poor  weary  heart. 


P  a  g- e     ninety-seven 


o 


Sunset  Colors 

UT  of  all  the  pain  and  sorrow, 
Out  of  all  heartache  and  tears ; 

I  can  see  a  bright  tomorrow, 
As  the  edge  of  it  appears. 

Like  a  cloud  that  drifts  at  sunset, 
'Mid  the  colors  of  the  west; 

God's  care  around  my  life  has  set, 
And  brought  me  peace  and  rest. 

I  have  trusted  Him  in  plenty, 
I  have  trusted  Him  in  woe ; 

Now  my  life  is  never  empty, 
More  care  and  love  I  know. 

In  the  past  He  gave  me  patience, 
He  knows  now  what  I  need; 

I  find  His  loving  recompense 
Is  something  sweet  indeed. 

I  can  see  the  risen  glory, 
Of  a  faith  that  covers  all; 

And  my  pen  will  tell  the  story, 
Till  I  hear  the  angels  call. 


Page     ninety-eight 


T 


Mother 

HE  dearest  songs  that  I  could  sing, 
All  the  eloquence  I  could  bring 
Would  never  half  begin  to  tell 
Of  that  dear  one  we  loved  so  well. 

She  knew  how  so  to  make  a  home ; 
She  welcomed  every  one  that  come, 
Daytime  or  night,  her  love  was  there 
For  every  one  of  us  to  share. 

Her  very  presence  brought  us  bliss, 
We  asked  no  greater  joy  than  this: 
To  be  near  her  the  live-long  day 
While  we  were  happy  at  our  play. 

She  loved  us,  and  she  loved  God,  too, 
'Twas  this  that  made  our  home  life  true ; 
She  taught  us  faith  at  her  dear  knee, 
Her  trust  deep  rooted  like  a  tree. 

The  good  she  taught  us  children  then, 
Tho'  we  are  now  grown  women  and  men, 
Runs  through  our  lives  a  filtering  stream 
Of  which  this  song  is  but  a  gleam. 


Page      ninety-nine 


Not  Unkind,  But  Careless 


o 


H,  the  rarity  of  thoughtfulness 

And  real  kind  desire, 
When  a  little  love  and  kindness 

Would  start  the  hearthstone  fire. 

We  are  too  slow  with  goodly  deeds, 

The  ones  poor  souls  require, 
When  empty  hearts  with  all  their  needs, 

Stand  pleading  love's  desire. 

Oh,  how  we  all  do  hesitate 

And  say,  "some  time  we  will," 

When  many  outside  our  garden  gate 
Are  passing  hungry  still. 

Ah,  well !  the  world  isn  't  as  heartless 
As  some  would  have  us  believe. 

The  trouble  is  we  grow  so  careless, 
Forget  the  good  to  leave. 


Page     one      hundred 


w 


Content 

ITH  this  little  view  facing  East 

I'm  perfectly  content. 
I  sit  and  feast,  and  feast,  and  feast, 

Thankful  for  mercies  sent. 

I  can  see  the  blue  sky  yonder 

And  the  green  hills  sloping  down, 

The  velvet  grass  a  field  of  wonder 
And  on  every  hill  a  crown. 

The  Artist  who  made  the  pictures 
Knew  just  the  way  to  do, 

So  that  we  poor,  needy  creatures 
Could  revel  in  the  view. 

While  here  I  sit  in  the  sunshine, 

A  mother  growing  old, 
Thank  God  for  His  dear  love  divine, 

'Tis  strong  to  keep  and  hold. 


Page     one     hundred     one 


G 


Pass  Me  On 

OOD-BY  now  friends,  you've  read  me  through; 

Don't  hide  me  quite  away, 
But  pass  me  on  to  some  one  who 

Still  struggles  on  the  way. 

The  world  is  wide,  and  love  is  sweet; 

So  pass  it  down  the  road, 
And  reach  a  hand  to  those  you  meet 

Who  have  a  heavier  load. 

We  cannot  live  for  self  alone 

And  claim  the  best  there  is. 
The  heart  where  others'  love  is  grown 

Will  find  no  end  of  bliss. 


tXS'^v 

THE    *     \ 

UNIVERSITY    | 

/ 


THE    END 


Page     one     hundred     two 


UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 


Due  two  weeks  after  date. 
SEP   29    loi. 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES  YC      M  6  58 


291902 


